


C'mon Let Me Kiss It Better

by fiddleyoumust



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-10
Updated: 2014-02-10
Packaged: 2018-01-11 20:18:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1177484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fiddleyoumust/pseuds/fiddleyoumust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry sneaks back to London to nurse Niall after his knee surgery.</p>
            </blockquote>





	C'mon Let Me Kiss It Better

**Author's Note:**

  * For [slownight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/slownight/gifts).



> This is for Miranda (slownight) in celebration of her birthday! Sorry for the shocking lack of porn. :( I HOPE YOU STILL LOVE ME. 
> 
> Many thanks to the always wonderful Erica for reading this over for me. Any remaining mistakes are all my fault.

Harry rings the buzzer and waits. And waits.

And waits.

There’s no way Niall’s not home, is the thing. He’s been told not to drive and his car’s out front. Harry puts his hands in his pockets and waits some more.

This is probably a stupid idea. The last time they’d seen each other they hadn’t parted on the greatest of terms -- both of them disappointed and angry, or as angry as either of them ever manages to be at anyone. Harry just hopes enough time has passed that Niall’s not angry anymore. He leans on the bell again, impatiently, with his shoulder this time because it’s cold out and his fingers are quite happy inside his pockets. 

“Comin’, comin’,” he finally hears Niall call from somewhere inside.

Eventually the locks click and the door swings open. Niall’s stood there in a pair of ratty joggers and a tank top that’s seen better days. He looks tired and pale -- paler than usual, which Harry’d not thought possible, but here it is staring back at him. Niall’s eyes are made bluer because of the dark circles that highlight them against his white skin.

“Took you long enough,” Harry says, but he smiles to let Niall know he’s only teasing.

Niall raises an eyebrow and says, “Walkin’ with these things is ‘orrible.”

He shakes one of his crutches at Harry for effect. 

“You look like shit, mate,” Harry says, budging past Niall into the hallway. He’s careful not to trip himself over Niall’s crutches and take them both down in a pile of limbs, but he doesn’t bother to ask permission to enter just in case Niall does tell him to go away.

“Thought you we’re soakin’ up th’ sun in L.A.,” Niall says, closing the door and shuffling back down the hall toward the sitting room where the sound of the telly blares whatever sport Niall’s tuned into. 

Harry can’t tell if Niall means it as a dig or if he’s just making conversation. He chooses to believe the latter.

“Not the only one who can pretend to be one place and pop up somewhere else,” Harry says.

“‘S a bit of fun innit?” Niall says with a smile. “Like bein’ James Bond.”

Harry thinks it’s mostly a right pain in the ass. It’s why he usually doesn’t bother with it, perfectly content to let the world know where he is and where he’s going if that’s what they choose to do with their time. Harry likes making people happy. It makes him happy to do it, and Harry likes being happy.

He likes making Niall happy most of all because it’s easy but also appreciated. No one does happy half as good as Niall.

“It’s a bit exhausting, if I’m honest,” Harry says.

“Didn’t need ta make the trip,” Niall says, voice going slightly sharper. “I’m doin’ fine.”

The truth is, Harry’s tired. The last year has been long -- the last three years have been long -- and Harry thought L.A. would be the perfect place to relax. But he couldn’t stop thinking about Niall.

He can’t say that to Niall, though, so he shrugs and says, “Things are always so busy there and I just wanted to rest without having to do what everyone else wants. Seemed easier to let people think I’m still in L.A.”

“Your mum know you’re home?” Niall asks. Harry nods as he shrugs off his coat, tossing it over the back of Niall’s sofa in a heap that would make his mum cringe.

“Yeah, wants to see me, of course. I told her I’d be up after my birthday.”

Niall collapses onto the sofa, propping his crutches against the table in front of him.

“There’s beer in the kitchen,” he says. “‘Ave t’ get it yerself though.”

“I’m good,” Harry says, sitting down on Niall’s coffee table so he can look Niall in the eye.

Niall really does look tired. His hair is soft and free of product, and even though they normally spend a lot of their time together Harry realizes it’s been a while since they’ve seen one another for no reason other than that they wanted to.

“What?” Niall asks after the silence stretches too long.

Harry is staring, which would probably be weird if it was anyone else, but Harry is weird and he knows Niall is too. It’s what Harry loves best about him.

“Are you going to show me?” Harry asks, trying to lighten the mood. “Can I start calling you Frankenstien?”

“It’s Frankenstein's monster, idiot,” Niall says.

“Who told you that?” Harry asks. “Bressie or Eoghan?”

“I read,” Niall says, but he’s already giggling into his fist.

“Do not,” Harry insists.

Niall leans over and gingerly pulls the leg of his joggers up over his knee. Harry was expecting it to be ugly, but it is seriously ugly. A long thick incision runs vertically through Niall’s entire knee cap and into his lower thigh. Staples hold the incision together down the entire length of the scar, the surrounding tissue bruised and mottled.

The sight of it makes Harry’s stomach roll and swoop, but he puts on a brave face, smiles, and says, “Siiiick.”

“Disgustin’, innit?” Niall asks.

“The fans’ll go nuts,” Harry says, trying to keep any hint of bitterness out of his voice. “Falling all over themselves to take care of you.”

Niall shrugs, says, “Never cared about that, you know?”

Harry nods even though he doesn’t know. 

He and Niall are a lot alike. Neither of them pays much mind to what people say about them, neither will confirm or deny 99% of what is said about them. But whereas Harry sometimes can’t help taking some comments to heart, Niall never seems bothered by anything. He seems to let the good and the bad roll off of him in equal measure.

Harry has always been a bit envious of Niall’s ability to be so secure in who he is that his faith is never shaken by what people say about him. Harry is also annoyed that Niall is often as much of an enigma to him as he is to their fans.

“Maybe I do want a drink,” Harry says. “Got any wine?”

“Spendin’ too much time with Grimshaw and those fruity Californians,” Niall says.

“Hey, I’ve always been well posh,” Harry reminds him as he heads toward the kitchen.

It’s a long running joke between them, the fact that Harry’s family has money and he’s always had access to nice things. It began with that first time they’d all gone to Harry’s dad’s cabin, when Niall seemed to realize that Harry’s family had an extra house just lying about for vacations.

“There’s vodka in the freezer and beer in the fridge,” Niall shouts. “Bring me one!”

Niall’s refrigerator does indeed have beer. It also contains a bag of overripe grapes, a jar of mayo that’s past its expiry date, and one lime. On the kitchen counter there’s a half-eaten box of chocolates and a bouquet of flowers that’s seen better days.

“Are you eating?” Harry shouts because man cannot survive on chocolates and beer alone. Harry has no idea how long Niall has been living like this.

“There’s crisps!” Niall screams back, as if that is the entire food pyramid sewn up in one convenient air tight bag.

Harry rolls his eyes just to make himself feel better and gets out his phone, sending off a quick text with a list of things they’ll need. He gets the crisps out of the pantry and two beers out of the fridge and goes back to the sitting room to listen to Niall yell at footie players who can’t hear him.

~~~

Harry dozes off and doesn’t wake up again until the doorbell goes. It’s dark out, only moonlight spilling in from the glass doors that lead out to Niall’s patio. The telly is muted and Niall is napping on the other side of the sofa, head lolling against the backrest.

Harry stands and stretches, making his way to the door.

“Hiya,” Nick says, holding both arms aloft to show off the bags of groceries weighing them down.

Puppy makes things more difficult by winding her tether around both their legs as she tries to get into the house, no doubt wanting to investigate all the new and interesting smells Niall’s place has to offer. Harry smiles and ushers Nick inside, stepping out of the mess of Puppy’s lead and taking a few of the bags off of Nick so his arms don’t fall off.

“Thanks for doing this,” Harry says.

“Oh no,” Nick says. “I love shopping for popstars. Thinking of starting my own popstar grocery delivery service. How else am I going to bag myself a popstar husband?”

“Hey,” Harry says indignantly and bumps his shoulder against Nick’s as they make their way into the kitchen.

“Can you imagine it?” Nick asks, dumping his bags on the kitchen counter and stooping to let Puppy off of her lead. “There I am, delivering groceries to Drake, and we fall in love over an argument about the ripeness of bananas and whether or not mangoes are in season year round. It’s my destiny.”

“Started from the bottom now you’re here,” Harry sings and then grins when Nick laughs loudly and says, “Oooo sharp, Styles.”

Harry likes being useful and important, which makes being friends with Nick somewhat difficult at times because Nick finds most things useless and unimportant. At least Harry can be amusing, which seems to be the quality Nick values most in his friends.

They put away the groceries the way the two of them do everything, loudly and with lots of banter, so Harry isn’t exactly surprised when Niall comes hobbling in looking disoriented and fuzzy with sleep.

“Did we wake you?” Harry asks, trying to look contrite about it.

“Hiya, Niall,” Nick says.

“Hi, Grimmy,” Niall says back, shaking his head in answer to Harry’s question. “Got woken up to somethin’ lickin’ me neck and cheek. Shame it was a dog and not Kate Beckinsale.”

“Oops,” Nick say, a weak apology for Puppy’s bad manners.

“We’ve discussed this,” Harry says to Niall. “Kate’s mine.”

Niall shrugs. Harry doesn’t know if Niall is acknowledging his claim or shrugging it off.

“Mine,” Harry says again, digging his thumb into his chest because he has no intention of giving up Kate Beckinsale.

“What’s all this?” Niall asks Nick, ignoring Harry and waving his hand at the kitchen.

Most of the groceries are put up, but Nick’s left out the bag of pita chips and some garlic hummus Harry requested. He’s poking at it accusingly.

“Hummus,” Nick says. “He also made me get bananas. I’m truly sorry.”

“Niall needs to eat more than crisps and pints,” Harry insists.

“He’s poorly,” Nick says. “When people are poorly they want comfort. They want grease and butter and sweets, not smashed chickpeas on tasteless toast.”

“You’re so wrong,” Harry says. “Hummus is delicious.”

Niall dips his finger into the hummus, smells it, shrugs, and then sticks his finger into his mouth.

“Disgustin’,” he announces, making a face.

If Harry is deeply offended, it’s only because Niall will eat almost anything.

“Fine,” Harry says. “Don’t eat it then. More for me.”

Niall goes rummaging through his newly stocked refrigerator and comes out with a yoghurt and the bag of mushy grapes.

“Remind me ta never let you make a shoppin’ list again,” Niall says.

Nick laughs and says, “And on that note I’m off, little popstars.” He throws Niall a salute and hugs Harry to him, says, “Missed you, young Harold.”

“Bye, Grimmy,” Niall says. “Thanks for the food, even if only half of it is inedible.”

“I snuck a pizza in the freezer,” Nick tells him. “Hope you feel better and are clicking your heels again soon. Oh, and Matt Fincham sends you his love.”

Niall cackles.

“God bless ya,” he says, hobbling over to where Nick is standing so he can give him a hug.

“Give me a message for Fincham,” Nick insists. “It’ll make his whole year.”

“Gimme yer phone,” Niall says. Once Nick has unlocked it and passed it off, Niall pulls up the leg of his joggers and snaps a picture of his knee. “First look at Niall Horan’s robotic knee.”

“He’s going to piss himself,” Nick says, delighted.

~~~

Harry makes the pizza because it’s better than beer and crisps, at least.

“Could’a just had it delivered,” Niall points out.

Harry frowns because Niall can be extremely dense when he wants to be. 

“I’m taking care of you,” Harry says.

Niall sets his empty plate on the table. “Is that what you’re doin’?”

There’s a teasing quality to Niall’s tone and Harry could let it be, could let Niall take the piss, maybe get them both another beer and they could drink until they both fall asleep on the sofa. In the morning, Harry could head out to his mum’s and spend his birthday with his family. But that’s not what he came home early to do.

“I thought someone should be with you,” Harry says honestly.

“Is that really why?” Niall asks.

Harry feels unsettled, has felt that way since he looked at Twitter two days ago and scrolled through Niall’s tweets. There wasn’t anything particularly alarming, just Niall’s usual happy-go-lucky chattering about sports and music, but something about the tweets didn’t sit right with Harry. He couldn’t shake the notion that Niall seemed sad and lonely. Still, he’d be lying to himself if he said that was the only reason he’d decided to come home.

“Yeah,” he says, choosing to lie instead. “You don’t mind, do you? If you’d rather be alone I can--” 

Harry stops because he really doesn’t want Niall to answer his question if the answer is going to be yes.

Niall doesn’t say anything at all. 

He flops over on the sofa instead, putting his head on Harry’s lap and rubbing his cheek over the rough denim covering Harry’s thigh. Harry’s chest feels warm and liquid, full of fondness. He puts his fingers in Niall’s soft hair and scritch-scratches slowly against his scalp until Niall falls asleep, his warm breath puffing out in drowsy little snores.

Harry supposes that’s answer enough.

~~~

Harry wakes up at 3 a.m. cursing jetlag, his head lolling uncomfortable on his shoulder. Niall is still sprawled out in his lap. Now that Harry’s neck hurts and he’s wide awake when he’d rather be passed out horizontal, Niall’s contented snoring is more annoying than cute. Harry extricates himself as quickly as possible and goes to the kitchen to put the kettle on before wandering into Niall’s bedroom to use the loo.

Niall’s room looks like a warzone. There are piles of clothes everywhere, a few shopping bags littering the floor, and enough half empty bottles of water on the bedside table to fill a recycling bin. 

The bathroom isn’t much better.

Harry finds a cleanish looking towel, which he places on the counter for safekeeping, and begins to collect the piles of dirty clothes from the bathroom floor and move them into the disaster of Niall’s room.

The state of the bedroom is alarming and Harry has every intention of dealing with it eventually, but he hasn’t showered in three days and he’s just spend the previous day flying halfway across the world. Washing off his stench is his top priority. 

Niall is still passed out on the sofa when Harry emerges, so he makes his tea and settles in to do laundry and pick up the rubbish in Niall’s room. He’s in the kitchen switching a load of towels to the dryer when he hears a giant crash and a scream from Niall’s room.

“Niall?” Harry yells as he runs the short distance to the bedroom, his heart beating wildly, panic caught somewhere between his chest and his throat.

Harry finds Niall in a heap on the floor by the bathroom door, his face twisted in pain and his hands cupped gently around his injured knee.

“Oh god,” Harry says, crouching down beside him. “What did you do? Where are your crutches?”

“Just needed a wee,” Niall says. “Thought I could make it without them.”

Harry feels anger pushing back at his fear then, his emotions jerking back and forth like he’s caught in a riptide.

“You’re so stupid – idiot,” Harry says, trying to move Niall’s hand so he can get at his knee. “Do I need to call your doctor? Did you damage it? Where does it hurt?”

Niall laughs, which makes Harry even angrier.

“‘S not funny,” Harry says. “You could have damaged it.”

“Never heard you talk so fast,” Niall says. “You sounded funny.”

“I was scared to death,” Harry snaps. He’s only slightly mollified when Niall says, “Aww, sorry, Haz.”

Harry moves the material of Niall’s pant leg up, but he can’t see that it looks any different than it did the day before. Harry has no idea what he’s doing, if he’s being honest. He hasn’t done his own laundry or cooked a meal for himself in months. He hasn’t the foggiest why he thought he’d be able to take care of someone else when he’s not all that great at taking care of himself.

“Come on,” Harry sighs. “Let’s get you on the bed.”

He carefully props Niall up against the pillows and spares a moment to be glad he’d washed the sheets in the first load this morning. 

“You want a cuppa?” Harry asks. “Or do you think I really should call your doctor?”

Niall shakes his head, patting the empty space beside him.

“I’m still knackered,” he says. “Let’s have a kip and you can make me a fryup after.”

Ten minutes ago Harry’d been wide awake, but now that Niall seems okay he feels some of his adrenaline and general restlessness seeping out. A nap sounds like a pretty good idea.

“Okay,” Harry says. “But I’m getting your crutches first, in case you need to wee again.”

“Yeah, okay,” Niall says, eyes already drifting closed.

Harry fetches the crutches and a cold pack from the freezer to wrap around Niall’s knee. By the time he gets back, Niall has already fallen back to sleep. Harry leans the crutches against the bedside table and gently puts the cold pack on Niall’s knee before he climbs into the other side of the bed and snuggling into Niall’s side. 

~~~

After their nap, over eggs and sausage, Niall says, “Amy might come by after a bit. Just got a text.”

Harry’s not sure what happened between Amy and Niall, but he’s almost certain they’ve shagged, which makes Amy one of those people Harry knows exists on a subconscious level but whom he has put safely in a box inside his brain and resolved never to think about consciously. 

“What about Barbara?” Harry asks, even though she is another person Harry would rather not discuss.

“‘S not like that,” Niall says, not even bothering to look up from his phone.

Harry has no idea what “that” is, or if Niall is referring to Amy or Barbara – or both.

“Not like what?” he asks before he thinks better of it.

“Not like… Barbara’s not my girlfriend,” Niall says. “You got ta’ stop readin’ the Mirror.”

“But you’re –” Harry stops himself, mortified. He’s never been the type of person to prod his friends for details about their sex lives any more than he’s been the type of person to tell his friends intimate details about his own.

It’s none of his business and he knows it. He’s only prying because he’s jealous.

“Barb’s busy,” Niall says. “Not really interested in bein’ nursemaid to a sick popstar with fashion week comin’ up. Maybe after, when I’m feelin’ a bit better. We’ll see.”

Harry frowns, negative thoughts poised on the tip of his tongue, just waiting to be spoken aloud. He grits his teeth and swallows them down instead. Harry knows people who are perfectly nice but who are rubbish at like taking care of other people. His own sister is one of them. 

“Okay,” Harry says.

There must be something in his tone because Niall looks up and sharply asks, “What’s th’ problem?”

Harry can’t stand that Niall doesn’t seem at all bothered by what happened between them, that he just ran off and started sleeping with an underwear model without a second thought.

“Nothing,” Harry says, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “I’m sure she’s a lovely girl.”

“She is a lovely girl,” Niall says, face twisted up in a frown. “Stop being an arsehole about her just because you didn’t get your way.”

“And what way is that?” Harry snaps.

“Me not sittin’ around pining for you like you wanted after we kissed at the end of tour.”

Harry feels like he’s been slapped, though he knows Niall isn’t entirely wrong. They’re apparently going to talk about it after all.

“You wanted to go off to L.A. with that pretty Kardashian and while I was sat at home and crying?”

“No,” Harry says miserably.

Niall sighs and reaches across the table to put his hand over Harry’s, giving him a comforting pat.

“We don’t got to talk about it,” Niall says. “But you don’t get ta slag off Barbara. You don’t even know her.”

“Sorry,” Harry says.

He feels like the biggest areshole. He wouldn’t blame Niall if he asked him to leave.

“‘S fine,” Niall says instead, always ready to forgive people even if they don’t deserve it. “But if you’re takin’ care of me you get to do the washing up.

~~~

Harry finishes the dishes in record time and goes to find Niall, who has set up camp in front of the telly again.

“When’s the last time you bathed?” Harry asks, testing the waters to see if Niall’s still mad.

“Reckon more recently than you,” Niall answers.

Relief floods over Harry like water spilling over a dam.

“Hey, I just took one,” Harry complains. “Not but four or five hours ago.”

“I like a bath and I can’t let my knee soak for another week,” Niall says seriously, as if avoiding washing himself until he can take an actual bath is a legitimate option.

Harry rolls his eyes and puts his hand out to help Niall off of the sofa.

“Come on. I’ll run you a bath and you can prop your leg on the ledge.”

The sound of Niall’s laughter is infectious, even when he’s laughing at Harry. Maybe especially when he’s laughing at Harry.

“‘S not funny,” Harry says, smiling despite his words.

“Not laughin’ at you,” Niall says. “Just wonderin’ why I didn’t think of it me self.” 

He lets himself be pulled up and helped him to the bathroom, where Harry begins to run the water.

“You need help with –”

Niall looks at Harry for longer than is strictly comfortable, as if he’s seriously considering whether or not he should let Harry stay and help him out of his clothes.

Harry swallows thickly around the lump in his throat.

“Nah,” Niall finally answers. “I’m good. How ‘bout you answer me somethin’ instead.”

“Okay,” Harry answers even though he’s fairly certain he’s not going to like the line of questioning.

“Why’d ya kiss me?” Niall asks.

Harry trips over his tongue a bit before he finally manages to say, “I didn’t.”

He knows Niall isn’t talking about now. They’re both remembering the end-of-tour party in Japan. Harry has spent the last few months doing everything he can not to think about that night, and he resents being forced to do so now.

Niall only says, “Harry.”

“I – was sad about missing you is all,” Harry lies, fingers trembling against his sides.

“Hmm,” Niall says. “Did you kiss the other lads, too?”

Harry’s mouth clicks shut and he stares at Niall for long enough that the bath fills up and Niall has to reach over to shut off the taps.

“Didn’t think so,” Niall finally says. “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll have me bath now.”

Harry doesn’t say anything else. He goes into the bedroom to wait.

~~~

The kiss was stupid.

Tour life isn’t easy, although it’s a life that Harry loves. It’s hard never being in the same place twice, but Harry has never needed roots the way some people do. Places never mean very much to him unless they’re related to people. It’s not home he misses when he’s on the road: it’s his mum and Robin and Gemma, Nick and Aimee and the rest of his friends.

Harry is lucky in that he gets to have so many of his loved ones around him on tour – the lads and the crew, and then he’s able to fly his family out whenever he pleases. He knows these are luxuries that not a lot of people get in their work lives. 

He hadn’t meant to make things awkward and uncomfortable between himself and Niall. In fact, that was the last thing he’d meant to do. It was just the thought of being done with tour, of no longer having an excuse to seek Niall out or to spend time with him everyday, that had made Harry do something rash.

The fact that he wants to do it again is something Harry is working very hard on burying deep inside himself.

“Harry!” Niall yells from the bathroom, snapping Harry out of his self-flagellation.

Harry gets up and peeks his head inside the door.

Niall is still in the bath. The bubbles from whatever bath treatment he’d used are still floating on the surface of the water. 

“You need something?” Harry asks.

“I’m stuck,” Niall says, his cheeks going rosy. “Spent so much time thinking about how I couldn’t get that I never bothered ta’ think about how I was gonna get out.”

Harry can’t tell if the flush in Niall’s face is due to the heat of the water or his embarrassment at the revelation. 

“You’re stuck?” Harry says.

“Got no leverage,” Niall tells him. “I keep slippin’ and I’m afraid of falling again.”

Harry takes a deep breath and shufflers into the bathroom, leaving the door open to release some of the steam.

“How should we do this?” he asks. 

“I guess just – under me arms maybe?”

Harry leans over and hooks his arms under Niall’s armpits, dragging him up until his arse is sat on the tub ledge. Everything seems to be going according to plan until Harry goes to extricate himself and loses his footing on the slippery bathroom floor while his arms are still hooked under Niall’s.

They both go crashing to the floor, Niall landing solidly on top of Harry and knocking the breath out of him.

Niall flops off to the side after a time and says, “Well, I coulda’ done that myself.”

Harry can’t help but laugh. Everything is ridiculous. Bathwater slowly soaks through his shirt as he rolls over to look at Niall where he’s sprawled out on the tile, wet and pink and naked.

“Ugh, sorry,” Harry says, doing his best to look only at Niall’s face because he’s already done enough to damage their friendship. Perving on Niall while he’s vulnerable and injured would be a new low.

“‘S okay,” Niall says softly. “Shoulda known better than ta trust you to keep us upright.”

“Hey,” Harry whines, but they’re both smiling warmly at each other. Harry wants Niall to look at him like that always. “Sorry about earlier too,” he adds.

“That’s okay too,” Niall says, “even though you never did answer my question.”

Harry has never been very shy about liking people. He has no idea why Niall’s giving him such a problem, especially when Niall is probably the easiest person in the whole world to love. He requires so little and give so much. 

“Because I wanted to,” Harry says. 

“Reckon you still want to?” Niall asks.

Harry leans over and kisses him in answer. It’s worlds better than the tour party kiss – for one thing, they're both sober. Harry is more certain this time, less worried about what will happen after it ends because he knows Niall wants to kiss him too.

Niall’s warm skin feels both soft and sticky where the drying bubbles still cling to his skin. His mouth is warm, firm, and smiling against Harry’s lips through the kiss. Harry doesn’t know how long they lie there kissing, but it’s long enough for gooseflesh to pop up over Niall’s skin.

Harry breaks away with a laugh.

“What?” Niall asks.

“Thought you were shivering because of me,” Harry admits.

“Idiot,” Niall says fondly. “You’re not that good.”

“I am that good,” Harry says, mock affronted. He stands up and offers Niall his hand. “Trust me to get you off this floor and show you?”

Niall looks at him for a few seconds, his expression going soft and fond.

“Yeah, I trust you,” Niall says and takes his hand.


End file.
